


The Atlas of Eden

by LillysoftheValley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Eating, First Kiss, Food, Garden of Eden, M/M, Maps, Mild Sexual Content, Post - (not)Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-20 17:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21060347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillysoftheValley/pseuds/LillysoftheValley
Summary: After they save the world, they try looking for where the world began.





	1. Chapter 1

"You know, I don't even remember where the damn thing was anymore," Crowley said, apropos of nothing, continuing a conversation they had started some thirty years ago. He sprawled across the sofa at the back of the shop, having dropped by unannounced with a couple bottles and a need for company just like he had Before; except now it was slightly After and while all the motions were the same, something about the dance they had been doing had shifted. The tempo perhaps, or the melody; a single note of difference that changed the whole song in a way neither could define just yet.

"What's that, old boy?" Aziraphale did not look up from the book he was reading at his desk.

"The tree." Crowley waved a hand, the wine in the glass he held sloshing dangerously close to the rim but never quite seeming to spill over. "You know. The tree with the" - he snapped his fingers a few times - "the things."

Aziraphale looked at him over the tops of his glasses. "The apples?"

"That's them!" Crowley grinned, pleased to have that sorted out. He settled more deeply along the length of the sofa, pushing his glasses up on his forehead. "I wonder what happened to it."

"Well, I gather there was a lot of to-do with shifting plates, and continents and things, so I imagine it's all rather gone to the four winds by now." Aziraphale had taken off his glasses, to see better while he explained. He tapped them thoughtfully against his knee. "Although," he said slowly, "it is possible that there could be something left." He glanced at Crowley. "We could ... go and look for it."

Crowley snorted into his glass. "Remember where it is, do you?"

Aziraphale wiggled in indignation. "Of course I do!" He paused. "I remember the gate pretty well, at least."

"Aha! You don't have any clue!"

"And I'm sure I have an old atlas or two around here somewhere," he continued, as if he had not heard. He began to get excited. He stood and looked down at Crowley. "I'm sure between the two of us we could map it out. What do you say?"

Crowley tipped his head back against the arm of the sofa and looked at him upside down. "I say you don't have any idea where it is and you're just looking for an excuse to have me help you clean the shop."

Aziraphale huffed. "I am appalled that you would suggest such a thing. I remember exactly where it was."

Crowley pursed his lips thoughtfully. He chose not to mention that Aziraphale had not said anything against wanting him to stay. He sat up and set his wine aside. "All right, angel. If it means that much to you."

"You're the one who brought it up!" Aziraphale turned away, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

Crowley hid a smile by refilling his glass. He remembered Aziraphale developing that habit back when cuff frills were popular because he liked the effect. Or had he popularized the frills because of the gesture? Crowley could not remember, but it was not really important. Perhaps he could bring them back in style, he mused. There was a new decade coming up and everyone always fell for the temptation of a hot new trend.

"I say, old chap, have you been listening?" Aziraphale broke into his thoughts. "Really, if you're not actually that keen I do wish you'd tell me before I go making all sorts of lists."

"No, I am. I am!" He insisted at the skeptically raised eyebrow.

"Then you can help me look for these." Aziraphale thrust a sheet of paper under his nose.

Crowley squinted at it, then sobered himself up enough for the words to stop swimming. He rolled his eyes. "This lot will take ages to find! Probably buried somewhere inaccessible." A crafty smile started to appear. "Tell you what," he said as he ripped the page neatly in half, "let's make it interesting."

Aziraphale hesitated. "How interesting?"

"Last one finished buys dinner."

"Deal. But" - he held up a finger - "no miracles."

"Deal." Crowley held out one half of the paper only to snatch it back just as Aziraphale reached for it. His tongue darted out to grace one corner of his grin, eyes glinting mischievously. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to make deals with demons?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "I'll take my chances. Oh, you may want to start with that shelf over there." He nodded to one laden with such heavy tomes it was leaning into its neighbor and was undoubtedly held up only by a hope and a prayer.

Crowley snorted. "Cheat."

"Spoilsport."

* * *

In the end, Crowley lost, though not from lack of trying. He had nearly been concussed several times when removing one book caused an avalanche. He had even stooped so low (literally) as to get dust all over his jacket reaching a book that had somehow fallen behind the radiator. It had not even been on his list, but he fished it out anyway. Still, when he returned from the bowels of the shop, he found Aziraphale sitting with a mug of tea, his feet up on the desk with his books stacked neatly on the corner.

"There you are, old boy. I was beginning to think of coming to look for you."

"Oh, that's rich!" Crowley set his books down on the coffee table with a thump that made Aziraphale wince. "I bet you knew exactly where all those were before you even started."

"Not true. I had to comb through several shelves before I found this one." Aziraphale sighed wistfully. "I'm afraid organization has rather fallen off of late what with ..." He left the sentence unfinished with a little wave of his hand.

"I'll say," Crowley grumbled. "I was nearly discorporated back there. And just look at the state of my jacket!" He held out a grubby sleeve indignantly.

Aziraphale gasped in concern. He got up and surveyed the damage more closely. "Here, let me," he said. Gently, he put both hands on Crowley's shoulders and with one downward motion, where there had been dust and cobweb there was once again rich black velvet. With a satisfied smile, he gave the lapels a last brush. "There. All better."

"Ta," Crowley murmured. He cleared his throat. "So, where do you want to eat?"

Aziraphale, busy straightening the jacket's collar, was not really listening. "Hm? Oh, you pick this time, dear."

"All right, leave off!" Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's wrists with a chuckle, to stop him fiddling the lapels off altogether. He released Aziraphale just as quickly and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I know just the place."

* * *

"Kebabs?" Aziraphale said with some trepidation as they got out of the car.

"You said I could pick, angel."

"Yes, but I rather thought there would at least be tables." He gestured to the mismatched collection of plastic chairs arranged under the awning of the food truck. "I thought the humans had moved on from the pie cart, anyway."

"Everything old comes 'round again, you ought to know that. Come on. You used to love dining al fresco."

Aziraphale still looked unsure, but grudgingly admitted to himself that it smelled delicious. As he watched Crowley place their order, he realized Crowley had been here before. He was chatting with the proprietor and being downright friendly. Aziraphale realized he was staring. He settled into the sturdiest chair available, glad that the evening was fair, although, he thought, it could be a touch cooler.

"Oi!" Crowley exclaimed as a breeze sprang up. The handful of napkins he had been holding fluttered away into the night. "So much for those, then," he said as he plunked down in the chair next to Aziraphale.

"Sorry. Just a bit warm."

"You could try wearing less layers."

"I like my layers!" Aziraphale hugged himself. "They're comfortable," he said petulantly.

Crowley rolled his head in the way that meant he was rolling his eyes. "Well, be more careful next time. That's littering you've just contributed to."

Aziraphale pursed his lips. He silently accepted the plate Crowley held out to him. "Erm, how am I meant to ... without getting it everywhere?"

"You just eat it, angel." Crowley demonstrated by taking an overlarge bite of his own meal.

Aziraphale frowned at that unhelpful suggestion. He busied himself with removing careful mouthfuls at a time, alternating with the fresh pita. Crowley watched him with his usual unabashedness. When he had finished with a satisfied hum, he said, "I must say, dear boy, I apologize for my hesitancy. This was delicious. Though, a little messy for my taste." As he spoke, a drop of sauce dripped down his thumb. He held his hand well away from his waistcoat and looked around for a napkin before he remembered. "Ah. Could you be a dear -"

Instead of getting up, Crowley simply took Aziraphale's outstretched hand in one of his own and brought it to his mouth. Smiling up at the stunned angel over his glasses, he bent his head and, with deliberate slowness, touched the tip of his tongue to the offending droplet at the center of Aziraphale's palm. Aziraphale let out a soft _Oh!_ He had gone very still and very, very red. Crowley's tongue retraced the path of the drop all the way to the tip of his thumb. Once there, Crowley parted his lips and drew the finger into his mouth for a moment, sucking gently as he drew it back out to ensure every trace of the sauce was gone.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale yanked his hand back with a scandalized yelp. "That's - ! I mean - you can't just - ! I mean, really!" He could not seem to put a whole sentence together.

Crowley slung his arm over the back of his chair with a satisfied smile and licked his lips. He let Aziraphale sputter for a moment before taking pity. "Come on, angel. I'll take you home."

Aziraphale puffed out something that sounded like 'Preposterously forward' but followed. On the way back, the radio was uncharacteristically quiet and provided no distraction from the tingle that lingered on his palm and sent shocks up his arm straight to his heart, or the memory of the pull of Crowley's lips, the warmth of his breath, or the heat that had burned in his eyes. Such was his distraction, Aziraphale did not notice they had pulled up to the shop until Crowley gave an exaggerated sigh.

"Well, here we are."

"What? Oh!" Aziraphale gripped the door handle, but did not move to get out. Silence stretched out under the streetlight. "Thank you for dinner," he finally said.

Crowley shrugged. "I lost the bet. And I still say you cheated - "

"Would you like to come in for a nightcap?" Aziraphale interrupted in a rush.

"What?"

Aziraphale flushed. "Nothing. Never mind. Goodnight."

"No, angel." Crowley put a hand on his arm. He looked over the tops of his glasses. "I mean, I would. If - if you still want - "

"Yes!" Aziraphale grimaced at how excited he sounded. He tried again. "I mean, yes, please. Do come in, dear fellow."

He hurried to the shop door with Crowley close behind. Had he needed keys, he was sure they would have tumbled to the ground with how badly his hands shook. It was not unusual for them to retire to the shop after a meal, so why did he feel so nervous? Well, Aziraphale reasoned, that had been Before. Now that it was After, he could feel time stretching ahead of him in a different way. Now that he had time to, well, have time, he did not quite know what to do with it.

"Sherry or port?" He asked instead of thinking about all of that.

Crowley perched on the arm of the sofa. "You pick," he offered generously. "I chose dinner."

Aziraphale suppressed a sigh. He was in no state to make decisions so he fetched up the first thing that came to hand. He only spilled a little as he poured out two glasses. 

Crowley, still perched like a nervous crow, took the proffered glass delicately, avoiding touching any fingers. He could tell Aziraphale was shaken; _he_ was even surprised by his own boldness. Impulse was strange to him after a lifetime of thinking ten moves ahead. Aziraphale settled into the furthest cushion from him, his glass cradled in his hands between his knees like he did not trust himself to relax. Neither drank. They sat in silence for a long while. Aziraphale watched the carpet and Crowley watched what turned out to be port as he tilted his glass back and forth. 

Eventually, Crowley set his glass down and reached for one of the books on the coffee table. He sat on the actual sofa, though not too close, and began thumbing through the pages. The sound roused Aziraphale from his thoughts and, without looking over, Crowley handed him another book. Aziraphale took it with a smile and settled back, too. For another long while there was a more comfortable silence between them broken only by the soft turn of pages.


	2. Chapter 2

Late evening gave way to early morning. They moved closer together on the sofa for one had leaned over to show a page to the other and then one had asked a question and it had jut been easier to not be so far apart. Then there was _A touch more port, please_ and _Could you hand me that book over there_ and not too long after that, Crowley shrugged out of his jacket and Aziraphale removed his coat and both ended up on the coat rack. Paper and pencils were found and the edges of a map started to appear on the pages which quickly overran the coffee table so they went out into the shop proper and spread everything on the floor. Centuries worth of ancient cities and pieces of forgotten continents fanned out around them. Aziraphale seldom saw Crowley this excited about anything that was not a minor temptation so there were several moments when he found himself distracted by the animation in his lithe frame, or the spark of excitement in the golden eyes for, somewhere in all the activity, Crowley had removed his glasses. 

"Here, give us a pencil," Crowley said once, slightly breathless from crawling around on the floor. Aziraphale was caught in his gaze and momentarily at a loss. Crowley's hand was outstretched, waiting, and Aziraphale's eyes flicked to his thumb. The memory of earlier thudded into his chest and his face warmed. He thought wildly of also being bold; it would take only a little movement to lean forward, to reach out -

Aziraphale dropped the pencil into the waiting palm and quickly applied himself to a river that stretched away to the other side of the floor. 

Crowley, for his part, was similarly distracted by the fact that Aziraphale had not only removed one of his precious layers, he had also unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves to the elbow. This meant the angel was about as un-layered as he had been since Rome and it put all sorts of thoughts into Crowley's head. He was caught out staring more than once and it made him go pink, which was still such a new sensation that he almost stopped to ask Aziraphale to compare notes. Was this how he always felt when Crowley caught him looking? This rush of heat and heartbeats that left him dizzy? He was so preoccupied, it took him a moment to realize Aziraphale was saying something.

"We should put up the stars, too," he said. "The position may help us pin down a location."

"I - stars, yes," Crowley stammered. He hurried to his feet and into the back room before Aziraphale could look too closely at his face. He returned a moment later with another armful of papers, each crisscrossed with fine lines and careful pinpricks. Stepping carefully over Aziraphale, he mounted the air like a ladder and began to hang the pages above their heads. Soon, a creamy dome of paper curved above them. The early morning sunlight filtered through the skylight and made little lines through the dust, sending spots of light across the map.

"Oh, it's lovely," Aziraphale sighed.

"Yeah, not too bad." Crowley rejoined him on the floor and they sat for a moment staring up.

"Do you miss them?" Aziraphale asked quietly. Crowley stiffened beside him and he was instantly contrite. "Oh, dear, I'm sorry. I didn't - "

"'S'fine, angel." Crowley stood, jamming his hands into his pockets. He disappeared into the back of the shop. After a moment, Aziraphale followed and found him curled in the far corner of the sofa draining a glass of wine.

"Crowley..."

"Don't." He sighed. "Just, don't."

Aziraphale nodded. He quietly straightened up a little, clearing space on the sofa. He unfolded the blanket that lay across the back and sat. "Why don't we have a rest? We've been at this since yesterday."

"We don't need sleep, angel," Crowley said to his glass.

"I know, but after everything that's happened lately I'm beginning to find an appreciation for it. Please, dear," he said softly, making it an invitation.

Crowley glanced at him, at his open lap. "Are you sure you'll be comfortable?"

Aziraphale smiled. "Of course. Come along, I won't bite."

That made Crowley smile, just a little. "That's my job," he said. Slowly, he put down the glass, unwound his legs, and lowered his head until it met a soft, warm thigh. He was immediately suffused with a drowsy kind of warmth and relaxed. Aziraphale lay the blanket over him. "I suppose it would be nice to turn off the old batteries for a bit," he murmured.

"I'm still not entirely sure you're supposed to _completely_ stop your heart."

"Like you'd know. Have you ever slept?"

"A nap here and there. Hush now; I'll be right here." 

Crowley tried to say something else, but the thought got lost somewhere in the haze of sleep. He slowed everything down just shy of full stop and right before he drifted off, he thought he felt a gentle brush of fingers through his hair.

* * *

He had been looking at this face for a thousand lifetimes, but now it was as if he saw it for the first time. Aziraphale was entranced by the change that rest made to Crowley's features, as familiar to him as his own. He looked at peace; not younger exactly, but less burdened. Aziraphale realized that while he knew the face, the being who wore it was still somewhat a mystery to him.

Crowley came awake slowly to the feeling of a featherlight touch against his temple. He stretched, feeling warm and relaxed, thinking that maybe Aziraphale was right about the heart after all. He opened his eyes to find Aziraphale smiling down at him which, he decided in that moment, was what he always wanted to wake up to from now on.

"Have a nice rest, dear?"

He nodded. "Did you sleep?"

Aziraphale gave a little shrug. "A little. It may be easier in future in a bed." Crowley made a little choked noise. "In any case, and do forgive my sentimentality, it gave me a chance to look at you."

Crowley flushed. "You look at me all the time, angel."

"I know, but not so closely. And I've learned something." He touched a fingertip to the side of one yellow eye. "You have new lines, here. You didn't before."

Crowley smirked and raised his hand to poke gently at the divot between Aziraphale's brows. "You didn't have that, either."

"Didn't I?"

"No. Why'd you keep it?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "I could ask you the same question. And I suppose young Warlock is to blame for putting these in," Aziraphale continued, stroking the furrows on Crowley's brow.

"His parents certainly didn't help."

Aziraphale chuckled. Then his gaze softened, drifted lower. He grazed the creases beside Crowley's mouth. "But these, you've always had these."

"From all the frowning."

"Oh, nonsense. They are from laughing and you know it."

Crowley pushed himself up on his hands. "Are not! I'm a demon, I don't laugh!"

Aziraphale gave him a look that told Crowley the lie had not been convincing. "You were laughing just last night. Is that where these came from?" He brushed up Crowley's cheek to his eyes again. Crowley pulled back with a sneer.

"If you try to accuse me of being _nice_, angel, I swear - "

"I said nothing of the sort."

"Well, I'm not." Crowley's scowl faltered. "I'm not." He dropped his head to his chest, trying to get a handle on the sudden influx of emotions he felt, which he put down to being so close to Aziraphale. He did not, however, try to move away. A soft hand came up to cup his cheek and he leaned into it, leaned forward until his forehead was pressed on Aziraphale's. "I don't know what I am anymore," he whispered. That was it, that was the note of difference that made _Then_ Before and After, _Now_.

"That's perfectly all right, my dear," Aziraphale whispered back. "Neither do I, frankly."

Crowley met his eyes. "Aren't you frightened?"

"Oh, yes," Aziraphale replied with a little smile. "But we can figure it out together. Don't you think?" His hand made its way into Crowley's hair, the other found Crowley's thigh, holding him close. 

"Aziraphale," Crowley breathed. The hand on the back of his head twitched.

"Say it again. Please."

Crowley could list every time he had said the angel's name aloud. He had counted. Each time had felt like a delicious trespass, a little private sin that was not really a sin at all. Now that he had started, he could not seem to stop. Even when he ran out of breath, his lips kept forming the syllables like a prayer. He tried to keep still, but now there was a fingertip tracing the shape of his mouth and there was still one on his thigh and they were both very warm. He had not thought Aziraphale would feel so warm. His eyes had drifted closed so when Aziraphale's lips met his, it came as a complete surprise.

Aziraphale had meant it to be just a brush, light as a bee on a flower, but then Crowley was grabbing him and meeting him back so hard it took his breath away. He was immensely grateful that he did not technically need his heart because it beat so fast it hurt. Or maybe he was grateful that it did hurt, because that meant the feeling was palpable and not something imagined. This was After, and they were making up for all those times a glance had not lingered, a touch had not strayed, something had remained unspoken.

"Angel," Crowley breathed when they finally parted. He was grinning.

"Dearest." Aziraphale sighed, which turned into a little laugh. "You don't really want to go looking for the tree, do you?"

"Not really. It was a nice thought, though." He gazed up at the pages which had drifted apart above their heads while he slept. He snapped his fingers and all the pages sorted into a neat stack.

"You know," Aziraphale said into Crowley's neck, "We could still look for it, if you ever want to. We have got time, after all."

"Nah. I think I've found something better anyway." He caught Aziraphale's lips again and for a long time after that, did not think about anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This whole thing came out of listening to Bastille's _Laughter Lines_ and realizing it fit very well and then having the idea rattle around in my head for months until I got it down.


End file.
